


leave it all to the gods

by ronsenboobi (snewvilliurs)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snewvilliurs/pseuds/ronsenboobi
Summary: It’s silly that Beau notices, really, because they’ve spent more time without her than with, but she has a way of filling the space around her that makes it reverberate with emptiness once she leaves. Also silly is how Beau is starting to think of her in metaphors: she’s like the thunder, the way it can take the utmost stillness of the calm before the storm and make it rumble low enough to shake the earth—her rage is deep and ear-splittingly quiet like it.prompt fill: "beauyasha + a look at their relationship through stormy nights"





	leave it all to the gods

**Author's Note:**

> just a quick lil thing from [my tumblr](http://ronsenboobi.tumblr.com/post/172431681511/beauyasha-a-look-at-their-relationship-through), enjoy!

Yasha is gone.

It’s silly that Beau notices, really, because they’ve spent more time without her than with, but she has a way of filling the space around her that makes it reverberate with emptiness once she leaves. Also silly is how Beau is starting to think of her in metaphors: she’s like the thunder, the way it can take the utmost stillness of the calm before the storm and make it rumble low enough to shake the earth—her rage is deep and ear-splittingly quiet like it. She knows better than to set herself up for disappointment by pining like a lovestruck little girl, but then she tells herself that there’s no disappointment to be had in enjoying the view when it’s right up in her face, all toned muscles and frowning lips and so very tall.

She misses Yasha the way you miss a pretty place you’ve been; nothing more than that. Still, she finds herself looking for her in every rainfall like there’s a storm just waiting to carry her back to them. ( _To me,_ she doesn’t let herself think. That’d be as disgustingly saccharine as those books Jester keeps going on about because Caleb dragged her into his weird little hobby.)

“She’ll be back soon enough,” she hears Molly tell Nott one evening. “Always seems to have a sense for finding her way back where it matters.”

That night, lightning rips through the sky almost as though the Stormlord has heard talk of his faithful, but the thunder is distant from the flashes that bathe the room in light.

*******

“Yasha, do you want me to braid your hair?” Jester asks enthusiastically on her first evening back. They’re all sitting together in Fjord and Molly’s room because Jester declared they had, _had_ to do a sleepover now that Yasha was back and they didn’t have a reason to go out, anyway, because of the storm.

Yasha has to raise her voice higher over the consistent roar of rainfall to speak, but her tones are ever measured, still as the eye of a storm. “Sure. You can redo the messy ones.”

She moves to sit on the floor in front of the bed, and Jester throws Beau a jokingly panicked look over her head, because it’s hard to see if there are any braids that _aren’t_ messy. For a moment, her hands hover above the disarray of Yasha’s hair, her fingers wiggling uncertainly before dipping into those tangled depths. Beau doesn’t want to be caught staring, so she drops her gaze back to the corner of the room where Caleb and Nott are scribbling away on the pages of Caleb’s spellbooks.

“Yashaaaa,” Jester says as she braids, in a voice partway between a low battle cry and a little sing-song voice, the way only Jester is really capable of. Beau should be able to help it, really, but she does have a curious streak, occasionally, so she glances over and sees the ghost of a smile appear on Yasha’s face.

Between Jester and Nott and those flowers, Beau is getting the feeling that Yasha has a soft spot for cute things. Too bad that Beau doesn’t know how to be cute. She’s really good at punching, though, and Yasha is really good at hitting; they have that in common.

 _Why does it matter what you have in common?_ a part of her asks. She doesn’t want to answer.

*******

When Yasha kisses her, Beau feels like she hears the voice of a tempest rushing in her ears. Her fingers are cold, carrying the chill of autumn on her skin as she takes Beau’s face between her hands, but her mouth is warm and crackling with electricity. Beau pulls that feeling of fall closer against her, wraps herself in the cold air Yasha brings with her like that dark shrug she always has draped over her shoulders. The ground rumbles with thunder underneath her feet, but she can barely even feel it; Yasha’s arms are steady, holding her in such a burst of quiet that Beau feels the flow of ki racing through her, strong and wild as a river current.

“Welcome back,” Beau says against Yasha’s lips, pushing her back against the nearest pillar as lightning fills everything around them with a flash of silver. Whatever the Stormlord is trying to say, Beau has no idea, and she doesn’t care, because Yasha is here and she’s kissing her as fiercely as a whirlwind and hooking her hands under Beau’s knees to lift her up.

“I like your thighs,” Yasha whispers, in her way of saying it’s good to be back.

It’s a long storm that lasts through much of the night, and Beau feels thunder in every single kiss Yasha presses to the inside of her thighs. The electricity crackles between them as they make each other tremble and come undone, unraveling their coiled silences in the quiet with only the rain speaking for them. By the time morning comes, the sky is still laden with grey and the cobblestones are shining wet, and Yasha’s fingers leave a trail of warmth along the length of Beau’s spine.

Yasha’s still here; the storm hasn’t taken her away. As Beau wakes, the lingering haze of sleep lets her hope that they have a few days of sun on the horizon.


End file.
